Evil and the Deatils: The Iron Eagle Series Book Two
by Roy A. Teel Jr
Summary: The City of Los Angeles is caught in the grip and terror of a serial killer; a killer who's stalking, capturing, torturing, and killing young teenage boys. For LA County Sheriff's Detective Jim O'Brian, it's not just another killer in a long line of killers. O'Brian is stumped by the brutality he sees ... brutality that had to have taken the killer decades to achieve.


**_RATING: MA_**

_"__Men are more moral than they think and far more immoral than they can imagine."_

_Sigmund Freud_

_"__Cruelty, like every other vice, requires no motive outside of itself; it only requires opportunity."_

_George Eliot_

**_Calling Card of The Iron Eagle._**

Chapter One

_"__Are you sure you want to do this?" _

_"__No, I'm not…so let's go see Bob and get it done before I change my mind."_

It was pouring down rain when Jim O'Brian pulled into police parking at the U.S. Courthouse at 312 N. Spring Street in Los Angeles. He exited the car, clicked the key fob on his key ring, and the car horn beeped, announcing the vehicle was locked. He ran through the rain for the main entrance and entered the building. He showed his ID even though everyone knew him. He sped through and took the elevator to Department G-23, the U.S. Marshal's office. Dawn Sanchez sat at the reception desk in full uniform typing on her computer. She didn't look up, instead she said, "Good morning, Jim. Barbara's down in holding processing some prisoners." He walked over to the "Wanted" board to see who they were looking for and paused for a few minutes before Dawn looked up at him and pointed at a waiting room chair and instructed him to sit. He knew not to cross Dawn. She was a foxy little pit bull, all of five foot tall and ninety pounds, but she was a smart, sexy, and lethal Latino woman who had the voice and accent of an angel and the temper of a rabid jackal. "I know you're nervous, Jim, but just relax." He pulled out a cigarette from his top left pocket which drew a frown from Dawn. He clinched it in his teeth, and Dawn told him he was a bad influence. "What did I do?" "You know damn well what you did. Barb hadn't had a cigarette in over twenty years, and then you come back into her life, and she's smoking again." "Hey, she's a grown woman. I had nothing to do with that!" She shook her head. "You're enough to drive a person to drink." That drew a laugh from him. "Did she tell you that I got her hooked on scotch again? So, she smokes and drinks. Now that I hear myself saying it, you're right…I am a bad influence." She shot him another dirty look just as Barbara came into the office. "Well…look who's fuckin' on time!" He smiled and said, "I'm always on time for a good fuckin', and that's what we're getting, right?" She shook her head and motioned for him to follow her. Dawn yelled at him as he passed by. "And she didn't used to curse like a sailor either."

They went back to her office and she asked him to sit while she changed her clothes. "Why? Aren't we doing this here in the building?" She rolled her eyes and left. When she returned ten minutes later, she was totally transformed. She was out of her gray uniform and dressed in a beautiful white gown, her red hair in a cute bun, and her makeup fresh. Dawn was behind her, and Jim whistled as she walked in. "Don't go there," she said. He stood up and walked over to her. "Are you sure you want to do this?" "No, I'm not…so let's go see Bob and get it done before I change my mind."

Judge Robert Harris was the senior federal judge for the Central District of California and one of Jim and Barbara's best friends. The duty marshal knocked on his chamber door. "Enter," he bellowed, and in came Jim and Barbara. He looked at her and smiled, "You look radiant." She blushed. He looked at Jim, with the smoke between his teeth and his wrinkled suit wet from the rain and said, "You look like a skid row bum." He turned to Barbara and asked if she was sure she wanted to do this. "Like I told bumbles over there … No! So let's get it over with before I change my mind." There was a snicker, and he ordered the two to stand in front of him and join hands. With a few quick words, it was over, and they all signed the marriage license. Just like that, they were married again. "So, where are you two kids going to honeymoon?" Bob asked, sitting down in his chair. "Oh, we have a romantic honeymoon planned," Barbara said sarcastically. "I'm going back to my office to change back into my uniform, and Jim is headed over to see Steve and John at the federal building for a meeting. Isn't that right, sweetheart?" He nodded. Bob just shook his head as the two left his office. He called to them as they were leaving. "You two know that you are married for life this time. I can't think of a soul that would have the two of you outside of each other." He let out a loud laugh as his office door closed.

John was sitting at his desk when Jim walked into the office. The placard on the door and on his desk said it all, "Special Agent John Swenson, Behavioral Science." "Damn…if you had told me six months ago that you would be here as a full-time special agent I would never have believed it." John never looked up, just kept typing away on his laptop. He was dressed in a blue short sleeve polo shirt with the FBI logo on the front. His muscular arms made him look like a cartoon character that you wouldn't want to piss off or run into pissed off in a dark alley. He typed away as Jim walked around his office. He walked over to the "Most Wanted" and "Missing Persons" boards and looked over the familiar names. "Hmm…Walter Cruthers." He heard the typing stop and looked over to see John staring at him. "I'm sorry, John. I didn't mean to disturb you. Jim put his hand under his chin looking at the board and said, "I'm sorry, man, but Walter Cruthers is dead!" John went back to typing as Jim kept scanning the flyers when a photograph caught his eye and his emotions. "Where's Steve?" "In his office." Jim pulled the flyer off the board. He held it tightly between his fingers, and his hands trembled. "Molly Marie Hoffman." John stopped typing and looked over at Jim just as Steve walked in.

Jim had tears in his eyes. "I got married today!" Steve nodded and looked down at the flyer Jim held. "Congratulations, Jim," Steve said, taking the flyer from his fingers and pinning it back on the board. "I'm sorry that we missed it, but John and I have been working on a new profile." John looked on, trying to conceal his emotions. "We're going to find her, Jim," Steve said emphatically. "If anyone can, it's you two." He tried to put on a smile but couldn't. "So, where are we, John?" "I have to admit that this killer has me confused." Jim sat down and looked at John with amazement. "YOU…confused?" He nodded. "It just doesn't add up." Steve took a document from John and started reading. John handed one to Jim. Steve put it on the desk. "John, I don't give a shit what you think. The Iron Eagle took my wife." "No, he didn't, Steve. The timeline doesn't match up." Jim sat down and asked, "Are you back on the Cruthers thing again?" He nodded and John continued. "Steve, the timeline doesn't lie. Everything that we have places The Eagle at the Cruthers mansion at the time that Molly disappeared." "I've seen the goddamn timeline, and I'm telling you that the son of a bitch grabbed Molly at the airport when she dropped Gail off." Steve's anger was at a boiling point. "He's not omnipresent, Steve. There's no way. Not based on the time of the 911 call from the Cruthers residence at seven fifty p.m., and the eyewitness accounts of a man dressed in black fleeing the scene shortly after eight p.m. while the Cruthers land line was still open, and the 911 operator was calling out to the unknown caller. We can place The Eagle at the Cruthers mansion at approximately eight p.m. that night. Molly was to drop off Gail at five p.m., but her flight was delayed until eight thirty due to weather at Newark Airport. We have surveillance video of Gail and Molly eating and drinking at Huskers Bar until seven forty-five p.m. in the airport, and then Gail and Molly saying their goodbyes at the security check point at seven fifty p.m. The last surveillance video we have of her is at eight ten p.m. as she walked past the concrete post where her car was parked."

"Fuck you…I'm not letting this go. That son of a bitch took Molly and Gail two nights before." "Steve," Jim said calmly, "as much as you hate to hear this, John's right. Someone took Molly, but it wasn't The Eagle." Steve stood up and started to pace the office. "Then, he's working with someone else, and they took her for him." John and Jim both shook their heads. "You know that The Eagle works alone. That doesn't fit at all. Besides, we've asked you this a dozen times in the past six months, what reason would The Eagle have to take Molly?" He sat back down in the chair and stared at the poster in front of him. "It isn't getting any easier, guys," he said softly, "the love of my life is gone. She's out there somewhere. If you could only be in my head, in the nightmares I'm having about what he's done or is doing to her." "I don't have to imagine, Steve," John said quietly, "I'm still searching for the man who killed my wife." Steve nodded. "Yea, John, but you have some sense of closure. I know, not in a good way, but you know where Amber is. You know what happened to her. You know what type of animal you're looking for." He paused. "You have been able to move on with your life." John looked down at his desk. "It took me many years to even start, Steve." He sat quiet in the chair across from John. "Maybe, but you finally did. What changed it for you? What made you take the next step in life and move on after so many years?"

John sat back in his chair and folded his hands. "It wasn't just one thing. It was a combination of things. The first was seeing Sara again after all those years. I was so afraid that she would bring back all of the memories of Amber that haunted me, but that's not what happened. We realized, I realized, that I was depriving myself and Sara of the opportunity to grieve together. They were best friends, and we found that we could reminisce and laugh about Amber's life, and I didn't have to obsess about her death." "And the others?" Steve asked. "The Cruthers crime scene changed me as well." Steve and Jim both nodded at the revelation. "That crime scene changed everyone who worked it," Jim said, sitting back in his chair, "that was one sick fuck. Man…you guys can plaster missing posters all over the place, but I'm telling you that he's swimming with the fishes…I know The Eagle sunk him in the bottom of the Pacific," Jim said calmly. They were all silent for a while before Jim spoke in a quiet voice. "I just wish I could have been there to help." Steve chimed in. "On that note, all The Eagle left was his calling card, his emblem on an index card on the photo printer stand in the closet of that secret room. He didn't do his grandiose confession and DVD." John looked at both of them. "He didn't need to. The old saying 'a picture's worth a thousand words' says it all on that crime scene." "The coast guard has been trolling the sea, but the area where Cruthers' boat's GPS led them is one of the deepest channels off the California coast. The depth of the water out there is over fifty-five hundred feet. The sea will keep Mr. Cruthers' secrets," said Jim. They all sat silent as Steve rocked in his chair. John looked over at him and said, "We'll find Molly, and if we don't The Eagle will." Steve's anger flared. "If I learn anything about Molly as a result of The Eagle, I will know he was the one who was involved in this. I want to find The Eagle, and when I do I will kill him myself." Jim and John both shushed him. "Don't even talk like that, Steve," John said, "the last thing you want the top brass thinking is that you're out for vigilante justice."

He nodded his head. "I know, I know. I just can't get it out of my head." Jim tried to change the subject. "When's the last time you spoke to Gail?" "Yesterday. She's having a hell of a time of it. Bob left her for his partner." "I know that feeling," Jim smarted off. "His partner's a woman, smart ass." "Huh!" Jim smirked. "So was Barbara's." Jim could see he was pushing humor too far. Steve continued. "She's blaming herself for Molly's disappearance. She's a basket case." John asked if she was working. "No…she got laid off. She's looking for something." Jim suggested that Steve invite her out to stay with him for a while. "It will give the two of you some company and also give her a chance to take a look at life from another perspective, a change of scenery." John nodded and said, "It's not a bad idea, Steve." "It's complicated, guys." They looked at each other, and Jim being Jim blurted out, "Why? Because you fucked her?" Steve got pissed. "You know that I fucked her. I had two weeks of incredible sex with Gail and Molly…I didn't have a fling with her. I didn't cheat on Molly. I want Gail here, and at the same time I don't." "Because you have feelings for her, and you're afraid those feelings will take your attention away from finding Molly?" John asked. He nodded. "Won't happen." Steve looked at John and asked, "How the hell do you know? How do you know that I won't end up falling in love with Gail and forgetting all about Molly?" Jim chimed in. "Because you've always loved Gail. But that won't push your attention away from finding Molly. In fact, I think it will do just the opposite. I think the two of you could feed off each other, pushing you toward finding Molly, not the other way around."

Steve got up and said, "I appreciate all of the support and advice, but we have a job to do. Now, three young boys have been killed in the past three months. John, you have this preliminary profile, and you think that there's enough to go on to call this a serial killer." He nodded. "Then, let's get it up on the board. We have a new killer. We need to catch him before he kills again."

Chapter Two

_"__Why the hell are they subpoenaing Sara?"_

The rain was coming down in steady sheets when Billy Granger left the baseball field at Canoga Park High School headed for home. He had passed Driver's Education; all he needed now was to take the driving test, so he could get his driver's license and a car, so he could stop riding his bicycle home in the rain. He saw Gil Seabright waiting at the bus stop at the corner of Victory and Owensmouth and stopped to talk to him. "Hey Gil, wassup?" Gil shook his rain-soaked hoodie sweatshirt and said, "Nuttin… 'sup with you?" "Was hopin' the rain would stop for baseball tryouts but shittin' from the sky." Gil nodded. "Why you ridin' in the rain, man? Put your wheels on the rack and ride the bus." "Naw…I like the rain. 'sides, this trip's goin' the wrong way." "Buses run the other way, man!" "Naw, I like the rain." The bus pulled up while they were talking, and they said goodbye. Gil jumped the bus, and Billy took off down Topanga to the apartment that he shared with his single mother right across the street from Lanark Park. As the bus passed, he rode into the intersection, and a car nearly hit him. He yelled some profanity, flipped off the driver, and rode on. The car went on behind the bus. It was a little red sedan, too hard to make out any detail in the rain. He rode up Topanga and turned in an alley before the park, taking a shortcut to his apartment.

There was a nursing home on the corner across from the park, and he cut into the alley behind it. As he did, he noticed a pair of headlights gleaming off the rain-soaked pavement ahead of him. He rode on, and the headlights stayed right on his tail. He made a switchback turn that took him back out to Topanga, but the headlights followed him. He looked back, and it was the small red car. "Shit…I pissed someone off…I'm gonna get my ass kicked." He rode as fast as he could, the car still following him. He got to his building and dropped the bike and ran for the building entrance. He heard the engine on the car behind him rev as he approached the apartment security gate.

Doctor Sara Cook was finishing her rounds at Northridge Hospital when a loud clap of thunder caught her by surprise; she jumped, and one of the orderlies laughed at her. Sara sneered at her, and she skulked away. Sara had checked on the last admitted patient from her shift and was headed back to her office to finish up the day's reports and intern and fellow reviews before going home. She walked into the physician's lounge to get a cup of coffee when she ran into one of her colleagues walking with the hospital administrator, Martin Powers. They exchanged pleasantries, and Martin asked, "Sara, has there been any further news on the whereabouts of Walter Cruthers?" The question surprised her; Marty hadn't asked her anything about Cruthers in quite some time. "Not that I know of. Why are you asking me?" He paused. "Well, I received the wedding invitation from you and John, and I thought perhaps you had heard something from him about the case." She frowned. "Marty, just because I'm engaged to John doesn't mean I know everything about every case he's working on. The last I heard, Cruthers was still a missing person's case." "Well, given the news reports of what Cruthers did to those women and girls, I figured there was a real urgency to find him." She nodded, sipping her coffee. "There is, Marty, but the FBI and local law enforcement aren't genies, you know. They can't just make people appear. I agree with you, though. I would sleep better at night if I knew where Cruthers was." She walked toward her office, her back to Marty and her colleague, with a wry smile on her face.

When she got in, there was a pile of files on her desk, and she called to Rita, her assistant, and asked if everything she needed to see was there. The answer was a satisfying yes. So, she tunneled in, in the hopes of beating John home to surprise him with his favorite meal. It was half past three when she finished the files and got to her mail. "Junk, junk…" She looked at the thick envelope from a drug company and said, "Major junk!" At the bottom of the pile was an envelope from a law firm. She opened the letter and started reading. About halfway into it, she dropped it on her desk and called John in a panic. The phone rang, and a pleasant female voice answered. "Agent Hoffman's office." "Hi, Maggie, it's Sara. Is John in?" "Yes, but he's in a staff meeting." "Can you please interrupt him? It's an emergency." The line went silent then John picked up. "Sara…are you okay?"

She spoke softly. "Honey, I'm fine. I think I'm fine…hell, I'm messed up." "Okay, slow down. What's going on?" "I just opened a letter addressed to me from a law firm in Los Angeles." "Okay…" "The law firm claims to represent Molly Hoffman." There was a moment of silence. "What?" "The letter states that they represent Molly Hoffman." "Represent her in what?" "I don't know. I didn't read down that far. I freaked out." "Well…read it with me on the phone." She picked up the letter and attached documents and said, "The letter has a subpoena in it for a deposition in the divorce case of Molly Hoffman, Petitioner, versus Steven Hoffman, Respondent." He was silent for a moment. "What's the date of the letter?" "Holy shit! It's dated seven months ago." "What's the postmark?" "The same." "Scan it and email it to me." "Do you think it's a joke?" "I don't know, Sara. It could be; it could also be a motive." "What?" "Nothing. Scan it and email it ASAP. I might be a little late getting home." "I hear that." She ran the three page document through her scanner and then sent the file to John as a .pdf. "I sent it." "Okay. Don't say a word to a soul. I will see you at home. I love you." "I love you, too, John. Please hurry home. I have a surprise for you." "I'll do my best, honey." And the phone went dead. John was sitting at his desk, and his PDA notified him of receipt of the documents. He opened the document and read it; it had a case number. He pulled up the Los Angeles Superior Court website and logged into online services and pulled the case file. "Jesus Christ!" He printed the letter and case information and headed for Steve's office.

Steve was on the phone when John knocked on his door. He waved him in, and John sat down with the copies in his hand. He hung up the phone and asked what he needed. John handed him the documents. He looked at them but didn't say a word. "Steve, you obviously knew about this. Why don't any of us?" He stood up from behind his desk and walked to the window where the sun was setting behind the dark clouds and rain, and he looked out with the documents behind his back. "We were trying to work things out." "Steve, I don't think I have to tell you that based on these documents you have a motive to make your wife disappear." He turned to John with anger in his eyes. "She was fuckin' unhappy and had been for a long time; we both were. That was what having Gail come out was all about. She wanted to spice things up and see if we could get back the spark." John was calm. "I don't care what the motivation was with Gail. Where were you when Molly disappeared?" His question was met with silence. "Steve, you didn't disclose this in the missing person's report. You didn't tell any of us this was going on. It looks really, really bad; it gives you a motive in Molly's disappearance." It was quite obvious that Steve was trying to control uncontrollable anger. "I had nothing to do with Molly's disappearance!" John shook his head. "You can see how this is not going to play well in the investigation. How do you answer the question as to why you didn't disclose this? In fact, this is a black eye on the Bureau's reputation, as well as your own. We didn't catch this public information. We need to see Ryan Skillen right now." "This was private, John." "It's not private anymore. Look who the letter was addressed to." Steve's face didn't change, so John got more animated. "Why the hell are they subpoenaing Sara? What would she know about your private life? How would she know you at all? And why haven't Molly's lawyers said a word about her disappearance?" Steve was now visibly nervous, something John had never seen before. "What's Sara got to do with you, Steve?" "It's a long story." John sat back in the chair and said, "I've got all night."

Chapter Three

_"__Well, shit, Steve, it's never a good time for murder."_

Jim's cell rang just as he was sitting down to dinner with Barbara. She looked at him with impatience as he took the call. "O'Brian." It was half past seven. "Okay…who's on scene? Okay, okay…I'm en route." He closed his phone and kissed Barb on the mouth. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but our wedding dinner will have to wait. The body of a teenage boy was just found near the lake at Reseda Park." She didn't say a word, just kissed him back and took the food into the kitchen.

Jim arrived on scene within minutes to find the park was bustling with activity. He spoke to one of the LAPD officers and asked for the responding officers. As he approached the officers, he recognized them from the last Basin River Killer scene and wondered how they would respond to him this time. The last time they met, they weren't striking very nice notes. They saw him approaching and spoke up before he could get to them. "We received a call from Dispatch that a kid noticed someone on the island in the middle of the lake." Jim nodded and asked them to continue. "When we arrived on scene, it was dark, so we used flashlights and could make out someone lying just out of the water on the concrete curb around the island. We called out to the subject, but there was no response. My partner jumped into the water and waded over to the island and discovered the body. It appears to be a teenage male." "Where's the kid who made the call?" "She's over with our sketch artists." "She saw something?" They nodded. He pulled his cell phone out and called Steve, who promptly told him it wasn't a good time to talk. "Well, shit, Steve, it's never a good time for murder. We have the body of a teenager in Reseda Park. Would you and John like to get your asses over here and have a look-see?" There was silence. "Oh, I failed to mention, there's a witness." "We're on our way." Steve hung up the phone and asked if they could continue their silence in the car. That Jim had a body and a witness. They both jumped up, grabbed their coats, and headed for the elevator.

When they got to the 405, it was jammed. "Sirens aren't going to help at this hour," said Steve. "Let's take Sepulveda. We can bypass some traffic, and there's a decent amount of shoulder. We can run lights and sirens," John responded as Steve jerked the car around and turned onto Sepulveda. They were able to make it to the scene in less than ten minutes. Steve jumped out with John hot on his tail. They saw Jim standing near a LAPD van talking to a young woman. They walked up, listening as they approached. "Did you see a vehicle?" She nodded. Steve and John stepped into view, and the three broke away to talk. As John was looking around, Steve quizzed Jim. "What do you have?" "The body of a white male between fourteen and seventeen, left nude on the bank of the island." "Coroner en route?" "Yea…" "How are they getting over to the crime scene?" "Walking through the lake. It's only five feet deep." Steve turned and asked, "John, let's get some boats out here before someone fucks up our crime scene." John called for their CSI team and ordered some boats. Steve joined Jim with the young girl who was the eyewitness.

"What's her name?" asked Steve. "Wauneta Harold." Steve walked up to the van as John stayed within earshot. "Wauneta, my name is Special Agent Hoffman, and this is Special Agent Swenson. We're with the FBI." The girl looked about fifteen and said, "No shit…you FBI? You thinks I can't read?" Steve's face was shocked at the response. "I'm sorry?" "I axed if you thinks I's a retard…I knows you is FBI by the initials on yo coat." "How old are you, Wauneta?" "None a yo goddamn bizness…I tolds these fools all I seen." Steve's patience was running out, and Jim could see it. "Now, you listen to me, you little shit…I'm a federal officer. You show me some goddamn respect, or I'll take your little ass downtown, and we can talk to you in a holding cell." "Fuck you, man…you can't do shit!" Jim barged in. "Okay, okay…let's relax." "Fuck you, too, sheriff man…yous mudda fuckers kill us niggas all the time." John had heard enough and pulled the men aside and asked for a minute with her. They both threw their hands in the air and walked back to the lake's edge where a sheriff's dive rescue team was backing a boat into the water.

John walked up to the LAPD van and asked the others to leave him alone with her. Pointing over to the yellow sheet-covered body, he said, "Do you want to end up like that?" She didn't say anything. "Whoever did this is still here!" Her facial expression went from one of defiance to one of terror. "That's right. Whoever did this to that kid lying over there is still here, watching you sitting in the back of this van talking to us. "No!" "Oh…yes…now you're going to tell me exactly what you saw, and then you're going to get your little butt out of here, so you don't get made by the killer. If you don't tell me exactly what you saw, and if you still want to be a smart mouth, then I'm going to put you in handcuffs, and I'm going to walk you down to the water's edge, and let you sit there in the rain with all of the bright lights on you, so the killer can get a good long look at your face. Then, I'm going to put my FBI jacket over your wet shoulders, so the killer knows exactly who you have been talking to. Then, instead of having a black and white drive you home and watch your house for a few hours, I'm going to make you walk home alone. Maybe the killer makes a move for you, and if you're lucky we're watching, and we catch him or her. Or maybe you're not so lucky, and I come to your crime scene and look at your body under a yellow tarp. So what do you say? Want to talk to me respectfully and tell me what you saw or take your chances with the killer who is watching you and me right now?" She started shaking. "Guys…" John motioned to Jim and Steve. "Wauneta wants to cooperate with us and answer all of our questions, isn't that right?" "Yes, sir!" she said quietly.

"What did you see?" asked Jim, holding his midi recorder near her mouth out of the rain. John had a tablet computer and was recording the conversation as well. "I sees a red car pull up and park in the parking lot where the old pool used to be. I sees a guy get out, and he went to the trunk of the car and pulled out what I thoughts was a big sack. He walks over to the lake and drops the sack in the water and just walks away." Steve asked how she knew it was a person. "I was sitting here with some of my girlfriends and talking shit about some boys, but I be watching the sack floating in the lake." "And…" "And I sees it hit the side of the island where they's a dip; it started to rain like shit, man, so we went to move to the bathroom. When we came out, I sees that it ain't no bag; it's a person." "How did you know?" "'Cuz I looked over, and the wind and rain had pushed it up on the island, and I could see an arm." "What did the man look like?" "He was a white boy, 'bout five six, skinny. He was wearing dark pants with a lumberjack lookin' shirt and white sneaks." "A plaid shirt?" "If that's what yous calls it." "Then what happened?" "I told my friends, and I called 911 from my cell." John asked her to describe the man's face. "He's pasty white, scary lookin' dude…I didn't pay that much attention." "Did you see a hair color? "Dude was bald. I bemember dat 'cuz I thought that dude too ugly and skinny to be so bald."

John leaned down and asked, "What model was the red car?" She looked into his blue eyes. "You scare me, Mister…" Jim and Steve looked at each other. "Good! The car." "It was a Japanese lookin' car. Toyota or Nissan, not new, older. The paint was faded. Hard to says with the rain." "Okay," said John, "these officers are going to ask you some questions, so they can try to make a picture of him from what you remember." He started to walk away with Steve and Jim when she called out. "Yous have someones drives me home, right?" "Right," John answered as he walked with Steve and Jim. She called out, "You's evil man…you's got dead eyes. You's evil." John turned around, flanked by Jim and Steve and said, "If you believe what you just said, are you going to lie about anything?" She shook her head. "Then you be a nice polite young lady and answer all of the questions, or you'll be walking home." He turned back to the lake when Jim asked what the hell he said to her. He smiled. "I told her that you aren't really a cop. You're a crazy homeless guy, and if she didn't answer our questions I was going to give you a car to take her home in." They all laughed and climbed onto the boat headed for the island.

When they got there, they started processing the scene as they waited for their own teams. John lifted the yellow tarp and looked at the body. It was laying face down. It was cut and bruised on the back, the buttocks, and the backs of the legs. There was a small pool of blood coming out from under the body near the mid section. John took a gloved hand and tipped the body onto its side. The blood was coming from where the boy had been emasculated. Jim looked at the boy's face. "This kid can't be thirteen or fourteen." They all agreed. "He was tortured and sodomized, then the killer emasculated him alive. He bled out before his body was dumped." Jim and Steve looked at John as he spoke. "That's a hell of a lot of information to glean from this scene." John looked around and said, "The killer's still here." "On scene?" asked Steve. He nodded. "Where?" "I'm not sure…I want you two to keep processing the scene. I'm going to take a walk in the dark." They didn't question him anymore. They had seen enough strange shit with John that they trusted his instincts.

John didn't get back on the boat. He walked to the far end of the small island and slipped into the water in a dark corner. He lowered himself until his eyes were the only thing on the surface, and he moved so slowly that the water didn't move around his body. He saw a dark patch of trees and bushes and moved slowly toward them. When he reached the concrete edge of the lake, he slowly lifted his body from the water and rolled out onto his belly and began to slowly inch his way into the thicket. It was silent; he could hear only the gentle sound of the rain as it fell onto the trees and bushes, striking each leaf with a different melodic tone. He scanned the darkness until he could see an outer parking lot which was part of an apartment complex that backed up to the park. He crawled on his stomach through the short grass of the park until he came to the lot. He hunched down behind a parked truck and looked for signs of life. He knew the only way to ID the killer, if he was indeed there, was to make his presence known. He stood up and walked out into the lot and began walking behind the cars parked facing into the park and the lake. No sooner had he started to move than a small vehicle started its engine and backed out fast, nearly striking him as he hit the ground. He followed the tail lights and the rear of the car with its blue and gold license plate. As it sped off onto Reseda Boulevard, he burned the license plate number into his mind.

Steve and Jim heard the tires squeal and saw the headlights of a car leaving a parking lot adjacent to the park. They saw the unforgettable silhouette of John walking across the shadowy lot. Steve looked at the image hard as John walked across the park; an image popped into his mind and must have come out of his mouth because Jim parroted it. "The Eagle." "What about him? This is not the work of The Eagle." Steve shook it off as John's smiling face appeared on the edge of the lake. He yelled out to them. "Some kids making out. I think I scared them." He walked back over to the boat. When he was back on the island, the coroner showed up as well as their teams, and they left the clean up to them, and Steve demanded an autopsy right away. When they were back on shore, Jim said, "I'm going home to my cold wedding night dinner, and, I'm sure, my angry wife." He laughed as he lit a cigarette.

The rain had settled into a light mist, and the three men walked across the park toward their cars. John cleared his throat and said, "Steve, you want to tell Jim now or wait until it's in the newspaper?" Jim stared at the two of them, confused. "It's not going to make the goddamn newspaper." John nodded his head, and Jim asked what they were talking about. "I don't think this is the time or place to have this conversation." "There's no better time or place to have it," John said while looking at his boss with a bit of contempt. "Fuck!" "You tell him, or I will." John crossed his arms and waited. Steve dejectedly told him about the pending divorce. Jim had been holding the cigarette tight in his teeth when Steve made the confession, and it hit the pavement as his jaw fell open. "What the fuck?" That's all he could get out. The three men stood still as Steve broke the silence by saying, "There's a whole lot more to this than I can explain right now. I'm going home, and I'm going to call Gail, and then I'm calling Ryan Skillen for a meeting first thing in the morning to explain myself. Good night." He walked off, leaving John stranded. "What the fuck just happened?" John looked at the ground and said, "My boss is now a suspect in his wife's disappearance." Jim shook his head. "Nope…not buying it…I've known Steve a lot of years. It looks bad, but we will get an explanation tomorrow. He loves Molly. He would never hurt her, no matter what was going on in their marriage." "Can you give me a ride to Sara's?" John asked. "Yea. Hop in." Jim dropped him off and went home to have his meal with Barbara.

Chapter Four

_The Eagle whispered, "I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner. He can't hurt you anymore."_

John walked in the front door at Sara's wet and tired. She wasn't at her desk in her office. He walked through the small house until he found her sitting in the dining room with a glass of wine reading over the letter from the attorney. "Hey," he said and sat down on one of the dark cherrywood chairs "Hey, yourself." "Do you want to tell me why you would be being subpoenaed in Molly and Steve's divorce case?" She picked up the wine bottle and poured more into her glass. "I'm sorry, honey. I can't talk about it." "You can't talk about it, or you won't?" She shook her head. "I can't." "Okay…can you at least answer this question? Is it personal or a HIPAA issue?" "Both." "Sara, I've known you for a long time. Secrets aren't your thing." "This has nothing to do with a secret; it's a professional responsibility." "I have to ask the question because it's heavy on my mind. Did you and Steve have an affair?" She took a drink of her wine and said no. "Is this subpoena just medically relevant?" "Yes." "Related to Steve or Molly?" "Molly, and that's all I can tell you." "Do you think that Steve had anything to do with Molly's disappearance?" She looked horrified and said, "Good God, no! If anything, he has to be frantically trying to find her." Now, John was confused. "Was Molly's medical condition an issue prior to the divorce filing?" "John, I don't want to get into this tonight." "I understand, but I'm trying to understand if Steve's in trouble or not. Please don't put me in an adversarial position by needing to have the U.S. attorney serve a subpoena on you at my request. I can and will get the answers to these questions, Sara. It's up to you how I get them."

"Molly's medical issue arose after the divorce filing." "So, you met her through the ER?" "Yes. Now, can we stop the inquisition and have some dinner?" "Sure." They had a quiet meal, and when they were finished John told her that he had some police business to attend to. They cleared the plates, and he helped clean up before getting ready to leave. Sara asked him, as he was putting on his coat, "Why don't you stay? It's cold and rainy; we could make a fire and watch a movie." He looked down at her pretty face and the sad pouty look she had when she wanted something and said, "I can't. It's ten; I'll be back by midnight." "You know you can't promise that. It's the crime scene, isn't it?" "Yes." "What happened?" "A teenage boy's body was left on the island in Reseda Park; he had been raped and tortured before being emasculated." "Jesus Christ…you got this from the coroner?" "No. The autopsy is pending, but it wasn't hard to see by the look of the corpse, and there was a hole and blood where a penis and balls should've been." "You saw something other than the body, didn't you?" "I did, but I don't know what." She kissed him and told him she would wait up. He kissed her back. "I'm counting on it." He jumped into his pickup and drove away. She knew that what he discovered foretold whether or not she would see him again tonight. She knew he was going to the house on Parson's Trail, and she also knew what that meant.

The gate creaked open at Parson's Trail. Francis Statler, the late Basin River Killer, had no next of kin that could be found, and since the property was never registered under his name, John was able to transfer the title to the property into his own name cleanly. He pulled in and closed the gate behind him. He had upgraded the property even more since becoming a special agent, including a more sophisticated surveillance system, as well as a state of the art operating room in the container on the side of the house. He also upgraded his computer research capabilities and encrypted the data transfer lines to make it nearly impossible for anyone to pick up that the house was there and that it had Internet access. He walked through the rain and the mud to the container and opened the doors. He had replaced the old latch locks with magnetic locks, something he picked up from being in the Cruthers mansion. The lights came on automatically when he unlocked the doors, and he walked in and sat down at the small desk.

He looked up at the back wall at the crimson eyes of The Eagle staring down upon him like a guardian, its large black and crimson wings, a harbinger of death for those who occupied the container. He typed the license plate number into the police database and a name came back, 'Thomas Alan Marker,' with an address in Whittier. It was in a rough area of Los Angeles County which wasn't too far from Santiago's bar. He pulled up Google Earth and was able to drive the virtual streets and see all of the side streets and alleys around Mr. Marker's residence. A 'wants and warrants' search came back clear, and DMV records picked up the 1992 red Honda Accord. It was a two door sedan, not a large car, which meant if he was the killer he could only take one kid at a time. It was eleven thirty when he finished up his search. He packed his gym bag and put it into his truck along with his black body armor. He called Sara and told her that he probably wouldn't be back tonight; he heard the disappointment in her voice but also understanding. She told him to be safe. "I will. I can't let this sit. I don't know what I'm dealing with." There was a quiet sigh on the other end of the line. "I know that, sweetheart, just let me know if you need me and call me when you're on your way home. Where will you stay tonight? Long Beach or Parson's?" "It depends on what I find." He hung up and took off down the 118 Freeway to catch the 5 and headed to Whittier.

When Steve got home, the first call he made was to Gail; she was three hours ahead of him. Her groggy voice answered, and she perked up when she realized it was him. "Well, hello handsome. How are you doing?" He was quiet for a moment and said, "Not too good." "What's wrong, honey?" "One of my special agents has learned that Molly and I were in the process of divorcing when she disappeared." "Why should that bother you?" "I hadn't told him." Her voice was much clearer, and she asked, "Why in heaven's name would you keep that a secret?" "It's not anyone's business." "Under normal circumstances, yes, but with Molly vanishing after dropping me at the airport it would be relevant. I bet your agent has jumped to the conclusion that you're now a suspect." "Technically, it makes me a suspect; however, I'm calling the head of the Los Angeles Bureau office when I finish talking to you and asking to go over to his home and speak to him." "I think that's the right thing to do; it was going to come out eventually." "I know. I was just hoping that we could find Molly before it came out." "Is there anything I can do, Steve?" "Yes … I have a ticket waiting for you at Newark Airport. I want you out here with me. Your flight leaves at six a.m." "Of course! I was just waiting for the invitation." There was a moment of silence, and she said, "Wow! It's two a.m. here; I might just as well get packed and head for the airport. Will you pick me up at LAX?" "Of course. Your flight gets in at nine thirty a.m., and I will be waiting for you at terminal two." He heard a big yawn, and she said, "Okay, Steve. I'm going to pack. I will see you in the morning." "Okay. I'm sorry for the short notice." "Don't worry about it. I love you, you need me, and to tell you the truth I need you, too. Kisses."

After they hung up, Steve dialed Ryan's cell. There was music and other background noise when he answered. "Ryan, it's Steve. Where the hell are you?" "Hang on, Steve. I'm at a concert with my daughter." He could hear the music fading away as Ryan moved out of the concert hall. "What the hell kind of concert are you at?" "My youngest, Rachel, loves the girl group, 'Two Much to Love.'" "The two heavy-set sisters from television?" "Yea…I didn't want her going alone, so I'm chaperoning Rachel and ten other girls." "Sounds like a blast!" "Oh yea! Nothing more fun than a group of fourteen-year-old girls screaming and yelling along with ten thousand others." "Did the ex rope you into it?" "Yes and no. I've been trying to spend more time with the kids since the divorce. I'm paying my dues right now, but it makes me a cool dad. So what's up?" "John found out that Molly and I were in the process of divorcing when she disappeared." "You didn't tell him?" "No…Ryan, it's none of his damn business, but now he thinks that I kept it away from investigators. Shit. He told Jim, who was dumbstruck." "So? He's still a rookie snot rag. Why do you care what he thinks? We all know about it, and Jim knew about it because he was in the meeting after Molly disappeared." "Yea, he was just being a drama queen for John. Look, Ryan, the kid looks up to me. I want to make a big reveal in your office in the morning, and then we can laugh at him when he learns that it's in the official file, not the file that the field agents are working." "Okay. Be in my office with John at ten, and we can rub his face in it."

"I called Gail, and I'm flying her out to stay with me for a while." "That's great! You two really need each other right now; it's about damn time. How did John find out about the divorce?" "His fiancée is a doctor at Northridge Hospital, and Molly's lawyers sent out a subpoena for her deposition a month before she went missing. "And she just got the letter today?" "Hey, welcome to the U.S. postal system." "Do you think she told John about Molly's situation?" "She better not have, or I'll have her medical license," Steve responded with anger in his voice. "Have you heard any more from Molly's lawyers?" Steve asked. "Yea, I talked to Howard Cohen today. He is still invoking attorney client privilege with regard to Molly and whether he knows her whereabouts," Ryan said. The music was getting louder, and Steve guessed he was looking in on the girls. "He can't willingly interfere in a criminal investigation. If he knows where she is, he has to tell us!" "Yes and no." "What the hell does that mean?" Steve's tone rose. Ryan remained calm. "Plausible deniability. He claims to have no direct knowledge of Molly's whereabouts but at the same time assures me she's okay." "I don't like these games, Ryan. Why don't we haul his ass in under subpoena and make him tell us what he knows?"

"Steve, we've had the information for a week regarding Molly's known whereabouts. It's time to take her off the missing person's board. While I have only one junior agent working on the case, it's wasting resources." "And what are we supposed to say, Ryan?" "Tell the truth. At least what we've been told by her lawyers." Steve's tone took on a sad note. "I'm not going to see her alive again, am I?" There was a moment of silence. "She's really sick, Steve. She doesn't want to see you. She wants you to move on with your life. I know you don't want to hear this, but it's time to let her go." "I'm not just holding on, Ryan. She's been my wife for twenty-five years. I just want to say goodbye." "We'll talk in the morning after we deal with John. I have to get back to the girls. Who knows what they're up to." "Okay, I'll see you at ten." He hung up the phone and buried his head in his hands.

In an affluent area of Whittier, John pulled his Silverado off Mar Vista Street and into an alley. The house was on a corner lot, and the property was large and heavily wooded. It was half past twelve when he parked the truck, changed into his body armor and night vision goggles, grabbed his bag, and started out. There was plenty of cover, and his belt sensors weren't picking up any security zones. There were no signs of life, so he moved toward the large house in the middle. The house lights were on, so he removed the goggles when he was close enough to pick up the ambient light. He looked around and saw the driveway off to the left. He moved back over to the driveway side of the house, but there were no cars in sight. There was an oversized garage set back from the house that looked like RV storage. He moved around and put his goggles back on as there was no light. There were several windows on the garage, and he could see motorcycles and other desert and beach toys. He moved to the back of the area when he heard a faint sound.

At first he thought it was an animal whimpering, but as he listened he realized it was human. He went around the rear of the garage as the sound grew louder. There were no other houses nearby, but he could see a small car parked in the front of the unit. He couldn't make out its color, but as the sound grew louder, he could tell it was a human being and that it was young. He grabbed his small Mag-lite, removed the goggles, and shined the light through the window. The car had no front plate but was a faded red Honda fitting the description given by the kid at the scene in Reseda and the one that almost hit him. There was a back door at the far end of the garage, and his frequency scanner picked up the alarm signal. Since he didn't have all his equipment with him, he couldn't disengage the alarm. So, he did the next best thing … he set it off.

From the living room where he was playing a card game with his son, Tom Marker heard the alarm going off. He started for the front door when the phone rang. It was the alarm company checking in, and after thanking them for the call, he asked if they could tell him which zone was tripped. "The rear garage door," she told him. "That's the sixth time this week," he said. "No, I don't need police. There's obviously a fault. Can you send someone out to repair it?" As the alarm blared, he called out to his son to shut down the alarm while he discussed the situation with the agent. As the alarm went silent, he confirmed the appointment time and went back to the living room where his son was waiting for him. "I'll be right back, son. I just want to make sure it was a false alarm.

He went out to the garage and opened the main door with the remote. The garage door opener lights were brighter than your common opener and lit the entire garage. He walked through the unit, looking around, when he heard sobbing coming from over near the car. He walked around the vehicle and pulled open the doors of a large white storage cabinet. Inside, on the floor, nude and bloody, was Gil Seabright. He shut the garage door and said, "I thought I was clear when I told you I wanted you to be quiet. Then he reached down, removed his belt, and started striking the child. He cried out through a gag that was in his mouth, and Tom quickly struck him across the mouth. He reached down and grabbed Gil by the back of the neck and pushed him down flat on his stomach. His hands were tied behind his back, and he had large welts on his back, buttocks, and thighs. "I'm going to give you something to scream about."

Tom took off his shorts and underwear and moved to lie on top of the boy. "I fucked you an hour ago, but I see that you want more, boy, and he thrust himself down onto the screaming child with the full weight of his body. He started moving up and down as Gil screamed into the gag. "That's right. Now I'm giving you something to scream about." He was grunting and sweating when he heard the knock on the garage door and his son calling for him. Breathlessly, he called out, "Go back in the house, son. I'm just finishing up some work I left out here. I'll be right in. Why don't you make us some popcorn, and we can watch a movie." He never stopped moving on top of Gil. Once he orgasmed, he got off the boy and said, "I will be back in a few hours. In the meantime, keep your mouth shut." He slapped him hard across the face, knocking him half senseless. His pupils dilated from the strike, and he fell over onto the floor of the cabinet.

The Eagle was outside the building and heard the commotion but couldn't make out what was being said or what was going on. He moved to the door and saw Tom stand up, nude from the waist down, speaking into an open cabinet. The Eagle turned the knob and walked in behind Tom. Once he saw the boy, he knew he was too late, that this guy had done something horrible. He could see Gil's body lying face down on the floor of the cabinet and Marker speaking in a quiet but firm tone. "I'm closing you in again, and I will be back to fuck you again in a few hours." He shut the doors and moved to push the garage door opener when his hand was grabbed from behind. The Eagle pulled him like a top until he faced him. Marker was six two and one twenty. He was caught off guard by both the presence of The Eagle and his own nudity. "Why the hell are you trespassing on my property? Who the hell are you?" He barely got the words out before The Eagle struck him hard in the groin. Marker hit the ground hard, unable to speak. The Eagle quickly bound his hands and feet and then moved to check on Gil. He was breathing but shallowly. The Eagle whispered, "I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner. He can't hurt you anymore. I need you to hang on, son. I'm going for help." He pulled Gil out of the storage closet and put Tom in it. He kicked him in the side of the head with his boot, knocking him out. He picked up Gil and took him to the house.

Will was in the kitchen making the popcorn when the power went out. He knew where the breaker box was and walked back to the storage closet to check it when he was grabbed by the arm and dragged into the living room. "What's your name?" The Eagle asked in his disguised voice. "Will Marker. Where's my dad?" "Get a phone!" Will did as instructed, and The Eagle told him to sit and not make a sound, or he would kill him. He dialed 911 and when the operator answered, for the first time in his history as The Eagle, he spoke with his disguised voice at a crime scene. "I need an ambulance now!" "What's the nature of your emergency?" He said nothing more. He sat with the boys until he heard the ambulance, then he got up and walked out of the house. He walked back to the garage, grabbed Marker, and threw him over his shoulder, rushing through the darkness. He put a piece of duct tape over Tom's mouth and then took off down the road to the freeway headed for Parson's Trail. He was angry with himself. "I should have been in the garage. Why didn't I get into the garage faster?" He said it several times as he drove back to the house with Tom in the back of his truck. He called Sara and asked her to meet him at the house on the hill.

Chapter Five

_"__It's a mess, Jim; there are body parts in jars stacked ten feet high."_

Sara's car was parked behind the steel gate when The Eagle showed up with Marker. He pulled around to the side of the container, and Sara already had the unit open, lights on, and an IV bag hanging next to the table. He lifted Marker's body out and threw the half-naked man onto the table. He cut the zip ties on his ankles and wrists then restrained him once again, this time to the table. Sara didn't say a word; she went straight to work setting an IV and administering a small amount of sodium pentothal. The Eagle disappeared for a few minutes and returned in his white coveralls; Sara was dressed the same. The only difference between the previous victims of The Eagle and this recent one was neither The Eagle nor Sara wore a disguise. Once she was ready she asked, "What has he done?" "I told you about the body found in the park this evening?" She nodded. "Meet Mr. Thomas Marker, the killer." Marker was starting to come to, but he was altered.

"Where am I? Who are you people?" Sara smiled and said, "My name is Doctor Sara Cook, and the gentlemen next to me is known as The Iron Eagle." He looked around the container; it was all so antiseptic. "Where's my boy?" The Eagle looked at him and asked, "Which one?" "My son; where's my son?" "Well, based on the chatter I picked up from the police scanners while driving you here, he's with child protective services. Aren't you concerned about little Gilbert Seabright?" "Who the hell is Gilbert Seabright?" "Tsk-tsk. You don't take the time to learn the names of the children you abduct, rape, and murder?" He was silent. "Gilbert is the boy I caught you raping at your house in Whittier. That's the boy's name, and he's going to be fine in case you were worried about him, but judging from your lack of knowledge of his name you aren't." "I don't know what you're talking about." Sara walked over and picked up a syringe from a small steel table next to Tom. "Of course you do, Mr. Marker." She stuck the needle into the IV and injected a large dose of the same drug, and he became very conversational. "I didn't know his name. I grabbed him from a bus stop on his way home from school." He was giddy. "Shhh. Don't tell anyone, but he has a tight little ass!" "The Eagle walked up to him and put a small microphone onto the t-shirt he was wearing as Sara set up the remotes for the cameras. "I'm not wearing any pants…where are my pants?" "They're on the floor of your garage in Whittier, Mr. Marker. Now, you and I are going to have a conversation about little boys."

'Cohen, Miller &amp; Hyde, Attorneys at Law,' was emblazed in brass letters across both the front of the office building they owned on Santa Monica Boulevard in Beverly Hills and on every level of the twenty-five story building that its office occupied. Each floor was dedicated to a different specialty in law. Howard Cohen, the founding partner, had been practicing law in California for nearly four decades. A commissioned mural at the main entrance to the building told the story of the firm. It walked the waiting clients through the founding of the firm in 1975 as a small personal injury law firm through its maturation into every facet of law. Howard had dreamed of having a firm that was a one stop shop for everyone. He had succeeded in building one of the largest, most powerful, and feared firms in the country. They had offices in all fifty states as well as around the world. Nothing was subbed out; everything was handled in house by people he trusted. His named partners on the "Wall of Fame," as he called it, were Kenneth Miller, a former federal prosecutor now a criminal defense lawyer, and Sandy Hyde, the first female judicial appointee to the federal bench, retired and now practicing in business law.

Howard was known for living at the office quite literally. While he owned several beautiful homes in the Los Angeles area, he had a penthouse apartment on the twenty-fifth floor of the office building where he spent most of his time. He didn't like being removed from his work, and he spent day and night at his desk working on cases for his clients. Howard was long past his personal injury days; he handled all of the high profile clients of the firm. From politicians to celebrities, high powered business executives and their companies to sports superstars, and he was the attorney representing Molly Hoffman in her very low profile divorce. Howard and Molly went back a lot of years. They went through school together, from grade school to university. They had been engaged in their early college years, but they went down different roads after Howard moved to Boston to attend Harvard Law School. Molly went to Brown, but they rarely saw each other. Howard went on to become a legal power broker and Molly, while completing her doctorate in economics, married Steve Hoffman, and they started a life together. They never lost touch, and when Howard moved back to Los Angles to start his firm Molly was there to help him. It was all spelled out in the story of the company, and Molly played a prominent role in the firm's history.

Howard had finished for the night and went up to his apartment. He was met by Molly, who was sitting in an arm chair in the living room when he came up. She smiled when he came in and offered him a drink. He told her to stay sitting and made himself a gin and tonic and took a seat across from her. "How are you feeling, Moll?" "I'm a little tired." "What time did the nurse leave?" She looked over at the clock in the living room. "Oh, I don't know, Howard. She was here at six when I dozed off; I woke up about a half an hour ago, and she was gone." He sipped his drink. "Did she get you your dinner?" "Yes." "Did you eat any of it?" She shook her head. "I'm too sick from the medication. I don't know why I have to do the chemo, Howard. It's stage four breast cancer; there are only days left." "You can stop anytime you like, Molly, just say the word." She stood up a little wobbly and walked over to the bar and fixed her own drink. She was dressed in a soft pink robe, her hair was down, and Howard admired her beauty even in the face of inevitable death. "Are you going to let me tell Steve where you are?" She shook her head. "He knows, Howard. He won't admit it to himself, but deep down he knows. I don't want him to see me this way. You can call him when I'm gone." "I feel bad for him, Molly; he's been your husband for over two decades." "You've been my best friend my whole life. There's no one I would rather spend my last days with than you." "Do you have any regrets, Moll?" She nodded while taking a drink of her beverage. "That I didn't marry you. That we had to run around in secret all these years instead of being husband and wife. I regret not having children or grandchildren. I regret that I hurt the two men I loved most in this world. But most of all, I regret that I hurt you." He finished his drink and walked over and sat on the arm of her chair.

"We made choices; you knew that the demands of my career would make no room for a formal family life. While I have always loved you, I love my work even more; though I have to admit the past six months have been great!" She smiled a weak smile and said, "For me, too." "I pulled your file, so we can go over everything." "Thank you, Howard. You have always had my best interest at heart in life and now in death." "Were you aware that John Swenson and Sara Cook are getting married?" "I had no idea." "One of my employees who's close friends with Sara received a wedding invitation." "Well, good for them. I know that John has been through a lot; Steve had given me some history on him when he decided to bring him on at the FBI. Such a tragedy that happened to his wife." He nodded. "You didn't tell Sara about the divorce?" She shook her head. "Well, she knows now. One of the deposition packets got out before you put the brakes on the divorce. Evidently, it was lost in the mail, and she received it today." "What does that do to my end of life plans?" "Nothing. I just mention it because it was a dagger in Steve's heart. He had been keeping the whole thing under wraps, and now with Sara knowing so does John." "There's nothing I can do about that. I have to focus on me right now. What were you doing in your office so late?"

He started chewing on a piece of ice. "I was going over the estate of one of my best and first clients." "Really? And who might that be?" "Walter Cruthers." "The hospital mogul?" "One in the same." "Based on what I've read about him, he was a very, very sick man," Molly said. "Oh, I think that is an understatement. The wrongful death suits are mounting against him, and since he is nowhere to be found I'm trying to protect what he has." "Steve told me that he thinks Cruthers is dead." "I'm almost certain of it; however, he updated his will six months before his death, and I'm trying to protect the assets of his estate, so the heir will get the inheritance when I can get Walter declared dead." "When will that be?" "He has to be missing for a year before I can move the court to rule him deceased." "What's he worth?" "Billions." "Did he have children?" "No." "Did he have a trusted advisor that he is leaving the money to or a charity?" "There is a provision for a couple of charities; believe it or not, they are for battered and exploited women's shelters." "Oh, that's just sick." "I don't think so; I think somewhere in that sick demented mind of his he knew what he was doing was wrong, so he set aside a very large sum of money for that particular group of people." "No one is going to take the money." "Oh, you'd be surprised. His name will never be on the outside of a building or acknowledged as the donor, but the charities will take the cash, one, because they need it, and, two, it's enough money that it will change the face of crisis work for abused and exploited women forever."

"Too bad I won't be around to see that happen. Who did he leave the rest of his estate to?" "I love you, Molly, but I can't tell you that. Attorney client privilege." "I'm going to be dead in a few days; who am I going to tell?" He nodded his head sadly. "Well…does the person inheriting the money know he or she is his beneficiary?" "I can answer that question, and the answer is no, or at least I highly doubt it." "Well, good. I hope the money gets used for good and not evil, the way Walter lived his life." "I think that this person will." He leaned over and whispered in her ear. "That's the heir?" He nodded. A smile grew across Molly's face, and she yawned and said, "I have to get some sleep." Howard walked her back to his bedroom where she had been sleeping." "Sleep doesn't come as easy anymore; I find myself staring out the window at the city late at night and to the sea on clear days. I fear sleep now, Howard. I fear death will sneak up on me, and I will miss my final sunrise or sunset." "We all will see our last sunrise and sunset; we just don't know when. Don't be afraid. I will sleep with you tonight and watch over you; it will be okay." She slid under the covers of the bed and asked Howard to open the window, so she could smell the night air.

"I know it's silly, Howard. I just want to hear the sounds and smell the smells of life as it goes on around me. I know that the world will continue to turn after I have gone." "That it will, my sweet, but my world will be devoid of my best friend and lover. But I'm thankful that I had the opportunity to take care of you and spend these past several months together traveling and enjoying life." "As am I, Howard, as am I." She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. Howard rolled the IV stand away from the side of the bed. He called her oncologist, who was none too happy to be woken up in the middle of the night. "Molly will no longer do the chemo. She's weak, and she's dying. She wants her last days, however many she has, to be ones where she feels as good as she can feel. Make sure your nurses know. Just make her comfortable and keep her out of pain until it's over." He hung up the phone and went to the kitchen and made himself a sandwich and stood staring out at the city, both thankful and sad.

Jim's cell rang at five thirty a.m. He groped in the dark for it as Barbara said through sleep, "I knew there was a reason I divorced you, and it wasn't just Jill." He smiled as he got out of bed. "O'Brian." "Jim, it's Phil Defonzo with the Whittier Police Department." "Detective Defonzo, to what do I owe the honor of being woken up before sunrise?" "We were called out on a 911 call last night. At first, it was looking like a medical emergency call, but the scene has changed. We have a serious situation here." "Can you be a little more cryptic, Phil? I want to make fuckin' sure I don't have a clue as to what you're talking about." Jim grabbed his pants off the floor and started dressing as he listened. "Address, Phil. Give me the address." He was typing it into his phone which he now had on speaker. He saw Barbara sit up in bed when the phone got louder. "It's a mess, Jim; there are body parts in jars stacked ten feet high. This has to be the sickest crime scene that I've been on in my career." Jim was putting on his shirt and had placed the phone down on the bed. "Well, Phil, I used to tell myself the same thing. I don't say that anymore because just when I think I've seen the most twisted cruelty that man can inflict on man, I come to a scene worse than the last one." "I've got veteran officers puking their guts out, Jim." "Yea…that comes with the territory, Phil. Pull your people back and secure the scene. I'll call my team as well as Steve Hoffman from the FBI. He has a new kid who is really good with this stuff. I'm on my way."

He was putting his holster on when Barbara spoke in a sleepy voice. "Honey, I love you, but you need to really think about retiring from this sick shit." "I'll retire when you retire; how's that?" "You know I have five more years until I fully vest." "Well, there you go; we have a time frame! Now go back to sleep, Mrs. O'Brian. I'll call you later." She kissed him and lied back on the bed. "Oh, don't remind me. I can't believe I did it again." He laughed, pulling a cigarette out of his top pocket and pointing it in her direction as he pulled his shoes on. "Ah, but you did, my love. Ah, but you did." She was still grumbling as he walked down the stairs and out to his car.

Jim called Steve en route to the scene and filled him in. "Shit," came the response from Steve. "Okay, I'm on my way." When he called John, he sounded wide awake. "Shit, man, do you ever sleep?" "What are you talking about? I was sleeping." John was looking at Tom sleeping on the table. Sara was cleaning up some equipment when she dropped a piece, and it clattered on the steel floor. "What the fuck was that?" "Sara just dropped something." "Shit! She's up, too? Are you two fucking vampires?" John looked at Sara as he responded. "No, Steve, we're not vampires. Sara is up because she has to be at work early, and I'm up because my cell phone rang…and guess what? It's you. What's up?" John put the phone on speaker and laid it on Marker's chest. "Jim just called about a crime scene in Whittier. He thinks it's the child killer you were talking about." "Okay. Are you on scene?" "No, I'm en route. I want you to come down and work the scene. Jim said the Whittier Police are puking their guts out." He looked at Sara who was removing the microphone from Tom's shirt. "No doubt." "What?" "I'm sorry. I was talking to Sara. I'm en route." He hung up the phone and started to say something when Steve called again. "John?" "Yea, I'm here." "How the hell can you be en route when I haven't given you the address?" He rolled his eyes, and Sara started to giggle. "I'm sorry. I got so excited I didn't get the information." "You get excited over the weirdest shit, John." He gave him the address and hung up. They looked at each other and then at Marker. "We already know what he's done. How are you going to act surprised?" He was pulling off the white jumpsuit covered in Marker's blood.

"Hey, I'm always surprised when I get a firsthand look at the reality of the confession of one of these sick people." "What do you want me to do with him?" Sara asked. "How long will he be out?" "A while." "Okay, leave his IV in. When he wakes up, he will be confused as to where he is." "Not to mention the trim you gave his cock." "Yea…that's going to hurt like hell." "Please seal the container and set the alarm. What time will you be off tonight?" Sara looked at her PDA. "Six, unless something unusual happens." "Okay. I have a packed day ahead of me, but let's plan on meeting here at six thirty. I will have more crime scene evidence that we can share with Mr. Marker, and then we can conclude his sentence. He still has a lot of punishment coming for the things he's done." She nodded in agreement. "This sick bastard deserves to feel what his victims felt." "Well, we're off to a good start," John said while pointing to what was left of Marker's penis." "I will call you later. What time do you go on duty?" "Nine, but you can reach me by cell or text." "Do you have the encrypted phone with you?" She nodded. "Okay. Keep that one on you. This is going to be a very busy day." He kissed her and then went into the house to change clothes. By the time he returned, Sara had closed the container and was getting into her car. "Have a nice day, sweetheart." "You too, honey…be safe." He followed her down to the 118 Freeway where they separated at Balboa as John went on to the 5 and Whittier, and Sara went home to shower and change for work.


End file.
